The Feast of the Annunciation, one of the principal feasts of the Christian church, is celebrated on March 25, nine months before Christmas. It commemorates the announcement by the Archangel Gabriel to the Blessed Virgin Mary that she would conceive and become the mother of Jesus, the Jewish messiah and Son of God, marking His Incarnation. The Biblical account is Luke 1:26–38
Because its significance is much more than narrative, the Annunciation had a particularly important place in the arts and church decoration of the early Christian and medieval periods and in the devotional art of the Renaissance and Baroque.
In that context, the Leonardo DaVinci Annuncation of the 15th century (1472–1475) is noteworthy. So to an earlier work is by Robert Campin. Robert Campin, (born c. 1378, Tournai, France—died April 26, 1444, Tournai) is one of the earliest and greatest masters of Flemish painting. His work both in technique and setting diverges from Da Vinci.
“One of the most celebrated early Netherlandish paintings—particularly for its detailed observation, rich imagery, and superb condition—this triptych belongs to a group of paintings associated with the Tournai workshop of Robert Campin (ca. 1375–1444), sometimes called the Master of Flémalle. Documents indicate that he hired at least two assistants, the young Rogier van der Weyden (ca. 1400–1464) and Jacques Daret (ca. 1404–1468). Stylistic and technical evidence suggests that the altarpiece was executed in phases. The Annunciation, which follows a slightly earlier workshop composition, probably was not commissioned. Shortly thereafter, the male donor ordered the wings, which appear to have been painted by two artists. At a later point, in the 1430s, presumably following the donor’s marriage, the portraits of his wife and of the messenger were added. The windows of the central panel, originally covered with gold leaf, were painted with a blue sky, and the armorial shields were added afterward.
“Having just entered the room, the angel Gabriel is about to tell the Virgin Mary that she will be the mother of Jesus. The golden rays pouring in through the left oculus carry a miniature figure with a cross. On the right wing, Joseph, who is betrothed to the Virgin, works in his carpenter’s shop, drilling holes in a board. The mousetraps on the bench and in the shop window opening onto the street are thought to allude to references in the writings of Saint Augustine identifying the cross as the devil’s mousetrap. On the left wing, the kneeling donor appears to witness the central scene through the open door. His wife kneels behind him, and a town messenger stands at the garden gate. The owners would have purchased the triptych to use in private prayer. An image of Christ’s conception in an interior not unlike the one in which they lived also may have reinforced their hope for their own children.”
From the Washington Post, March 11, 2020 from “Great Works in Focus”
“This event, the Annunciation — full of tender hope and terrifying implication — is supposed to have happened 2,000 years ago in Galilee. So why does it appear to be happening in a 15th-century domestic interior in northern Europe?
“In short, because Campin wanted contemporary viewers to grasp the immediate relevance of this event to their own lives. He wanted us to register the presence of the sacred and the timeless in the midst of the material, “fallen,” everyday world. Conflating two places and two different time periods, 14 centuries apart, was a way to do this.
“Campin worked in Tournai, a bustling center of textile and tapestry production in what is now Belgium. It was also the hometown of the great (though younger) Rogier van der Weyden, who probably worked as Campin’s assistant.
“Campin knew that whoever had access to this painting would return to it repeatedly. To keep it interesting, the artist combined rich color (intensified through thin glazes), a sophisticated sense of space (note how the table is tipped toward us, to make the things on it feel closer, more available) and, above all, a surfeit of symbolically charged details.
“There are so many things to notice! The just snuffed-out candle, its black smoke rising and then curling back on itself — as candle smoke actually does. The rust stains in the wood left by the nails in the door. The shiny hanging pot that casts not one but two overlapping shadows, because it blocks two sources of light — the two round windows on the left.
“On the left panel, painted after the central panel, the triptych’s owner, Peter Engebrechts, is shown kneeling in prayer. (When he married, his wife and the gatekeeper in the background were added in.) An open door suggests they are looking across the threshold at the profound scene. We can imagine them and Mary and Gabriel sharing a continuous space. Or we can respect the door as a significant division between the material and sacred worlds. Open, perhaps, but not easy to enter.
“The right-hand panel shows Joseph, Mary’s husband, at work in his carpenter’s workshop. He, too, is involved in material things. Here, too, every object carries symbolic weight. The nails prefigure Christ’s suffering on the cross. The mousetraps allude to Saint Augustine’s description of the cross as “the devil’s mousetrap.”